Hunger Game of Thrones
by Ecogirl11
Summary: Joffrey decides to deal with his enemies in a different fashion... The Hunger Games!
1. Prologue

All rights belong to George RR Martin and Susan Collins. ecogirl11 owns nothing.

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Shoutout to Riverdalerider99 for introducing me to this websitd andand doublesecret for giving me this idea!

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Two figures talked in the throne room. One was seated on the iron throne, his crown placed neatly on top of his his blond hair. His pouty lips were tight, though his eyes were curious. The other figure stood confidently next to the boy on the thrown. His pungent odor was making the boy gag a little, but for once, Joffrey didn't complain.

"An easy way to destroy my enemies, you say?" Joffrey asked, suspiciously.

"Not just that", answered the white haired man, "but a way to remind everyone who is the king, and that you can do anything you want, that YOU are the ruler of these kingdoms."

This last statement made Joffrey's blue eyes widen and his mouth turn into a twisted smile. "They do need to be reminded." His eyes narrowed. "How do you know it will work? In fact, who are you. You're clothes are different, and you didn't tell me where you are from.

"I am from a place you have never heard of, a time you will never live in. It would be impossible for me to explain. I rule a land, and this technique has always worked. I came to you because your situation reminds me of my own, and your enemies' of mine as well." Please read the letter I have given you, for it is too much to explain in words. I must go back to my home, now, but my grace, I wish you the best of luck." He started to walk out the door.

"Wait", cried the king, "what is the name of your strategy?"

The man turned around. "I call it the Hunger Games." And with that, President Snow walked out through the giant metal doors.


	2. Chapter 1

Author's note: The order of events was slightly changed for the purpose of the story. None of the Starks went to kings landing.

Disclaimer: All rights belong to Susan Collins and George RR Martin. Winter is coming.

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Arya

Arya had stolen her brother's clothes for the day. Bran's tunic and tights were small on her, but less confining than the suffocating corset and easier to run in than the long skirts that made her stumble and trip. Her mother would say that she shouldn't have to run around, being a proper lady. Her sister would agree, a smug smile on her perfect porcelain face. Her mother would explain that acting like a lady would get her a good marriage, a good position. Well, thought Arya, perfect proper Sansa may get some rich lord, but doesn't stand a chance in a sword fight.

Arya smiled as she pulled Needle from the hiding spot in the woods. She swung it around a few times. Her father had let her have lessons with Syrio, but strictly confined her swordplay to those "dancing lessons". She needed more time than that! Sword fighting gave her a chance to be herself, Needle gave her a purpose.

Now she started her dancing. She lunged and parried, flying through the trees, disarming imaginary enemies, defeating knights made only of bark and leaves. This was great, wonderful, but meaningless. Arya could learn how to use a sword, become a talented swords-woman, but would never become a true knight, never be able to put her skills into use to protect her families, or the realm. Instead, she would be stuffed inside a palace with an old lord, sewing and popping out little lords and ladies. This idea made her sister swoon, but Arya gag.

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Arya walked home, sweaty and covered with mud. When she got to the edge of the Weirwood, she stopped. There were horsemen, riding towards Winterfell. When they got closer, she saw their banners, lions and stags. Joffrey. She stuck Needle into her belt and ran home.

When she got there, the soldiers were walking inside with her father. It was peaceful for now, but she could see the tension. She silently followed them through the long dark hallway, into a small room. Her mother and Robb were in there already, with a few guards. Arya kept her hand on Needle's hilt, as she listened, ear pressed to the door.

"His Grace, King Joffrey, has made a royal decree to have a tourney", a voice in the room began. A tourney? Why would the Lannister soldiers come all the way here to tell us about some tourney?

"This is a special type of tourney. It will be in an arena, a large forest with walls surrounding it. The winner of this tourney will get glory and riches." The man named the reward.

Arya bit down her gasp. That was more money than they had in all of Winterfell. Why would the king give away all that money? He wasn't exactly the most generous king.

"This tourney, or "game" will be a fight to the death. We are asking each house to supply us with one male... And one female."

Arya pressed closer to the door.

She heard her fathers voice, "Absolutely not! If you think I would have any man, let alone any woman in my family put their lives at risk to get money, you know nothing about me!"

A different one of the Lannister soldiers spoke up. "I apologize, m'lord, I seem to have misspoke. His Grace isn't asking each house, he is ordering each house." Arya heard the sound of swords being drawn. "And, Lord Stark, I would advise you not to get in the way of the king's orders. So who's it going to be?"

Arya was filled with anger, furious at Joffrey for forcing her parents to choose someone to risk their lives for no reason. She knew all men must die, but why must they die for no reason, not in a war fighting for the people, or because of an unstoppable illness, but because the bloody king thought it would be fun!

"Of course, the man has to be me," stated Ned, "It would be the honorable thing to do–"

Catlyn interrupted, "Ned, No! You cannot leave Winterfell. You are the only one who knows how to take care of The North. If you go, you may be taking the place of one person, but you will let the Kingdom die! My love, for the kingdom's sake, do not go!"

After a pause that seemed to last a summer, Arya heard her father sigh. "As usual, my dear, you are right. Now, who will take my place then."

"My lord father, cried Robb, I will take your place! I am 15 years old, basically grown. I have trained hard, and I can win this tourney, or game, or whatever you call it. I will bring home honor, and fortune!"

"Robb, you are still a child," Catlyn began, We could find someone else, a cousin or something, and–"

Arya was surprised to hear her father disagree, "Robb is well trained, talented, smart, strong, and a better swordsman and younger than I."

The door opened. Arya hid in the crack between the door and the wall. The Lannister soldiers took Robb outside to wait. Robb looked back one final time, and saw Arya. He looked shocked, but fortunately didn't say anything.

Arya could hear her mother taking a deep breath, holding in her sobs. "I will go as the female," Catlyn decided, her voice cracking, but somehow still strong. "My role here is not as important as yours, Ned, and there is another other woman who would be better-suited for this task."

Arya burst through the door, her family staring at her torn, muddy clothing. "I will be the girl champion!" "Arya, what are you wearing? Where have you been? How much have you heard?" Her mother's eyes were full of shock, and a little anger.

"Arya, you know I forbid this out of the lessons!"

Her mother turned and glared at Ned, her eyes ice cold. "You have been training her? Training my sweet little girl to fight! What are you preparing her to do? Go and fight a war? Get killed? I almost lost my Bran, what are you doing to Arya!" There were tears in Catlyn's eyes, and now she was letting them fall down her cheeks.

"But mother!" cried Arya, "all the reasons Robb is going applies to me, too! I am a talented swords-woman, trained, smart, younger than you! She looked into her mothers eyes, saw the hurt and vulnerability, and wished she had not said the last part.

Her father also had tears in his eyes, but kept them in. "Arya, I don't want you to go, but I don't think I can stop you. Even if I forbid you from this, you will find some other way to risk your life. Winter is coming, and I know you can't stay in Winterfell forever. Go Arya, stay safe, and do not get arrogant, there will be strong warriors in this battle."

Arya walked downstairs, flanked by guards. One of them spoke, "Even though there will be weapons in the arena, each of the tributes is allowed to bring one weapon. You probably don't have your own, so we'll go to the armory–" "No," Arya smiled, putting her hand on Needle's hilt, "That won't be necessary."

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Thanks for reading! Please review and follow! I'm open to any suggestions or reviews!


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's note: In this story, the Starks never left Winterfell, and are all alive. Also, Daenerys is in the beginning of Clash of Kings.**

**I don't own Game of Thrones or The Hunger Games.**

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Ser Jorah:

Ser Jorah sat on his bed in Qarth, wondering what the letter had said. The Khaleesi had insisted that she would be alone as she read. Why would Joffrey write to the young queen? From what he'd heard, Joffrey wasn't one to send a friendly note to the last Targaryen

Finally, Dany came into his room. Her light skin and silver hair stood out in the forest green room, making her look like an angel. Her draped purple dress left a good amount of skin bare, and her cheeks and lips were accented with some red pigment. She was so beautiful, and so confident for her years.

"The son of the Usurper has sent a letter to me. It sounds like it could be the answer to all of our problems." She handed Jorah the letter.

Dear Daenerys of house Targaryen, first of name,  
King Joffrey of houses Baratheon and Lannister has decided to hold a competition, named "The Hunger Games.

"Why would you care about some tourney?" Ser Jorah asked.  
"Just keep reading."

We are asking one lord and lady from each house to participate. As you are the last Targaryen, we would like you to come to kings landing to be part of the competition. We swear by the old gods and the new, and whichever gods you worship in Vaes Dothrak, that we will grant you safe passage by ship to Westeros, and back to Essos.

The Hunger Games will be an exciting fight to the death in a large arena. You may bring any one weapon, though there will be many weapons in the arena.

Jorah looked up. Before he could say a word in protest, Daenerys spoke, "look at the reward."

It was written at the end if of the note. Jorah almost choked on his Qarth wine when he saw the amount of money that was offered to the winner.

"It would be enough to buy ships," the young queen spoke excitedly, "and an army. It could be my chance to take back the seven kingdoms!"

"Khaleesi, you are the rightful queen, but this is an incredibly risky way of winning them. You are a smart and good leader, and could and will win in many battles, but this one will be hard to win. It will be man-on-man combat, which you are not experienced in." She was far from convinced. Dany would never turn down a seemingly easy chance to become queen. "Khaleesi, at least let me go in your place."

"Ser Jorah, you are quite far from being part of house Targaryen," Dany said with a superior look, "I am the only one who can go."

Jorah was irritated. She was too arrogant and confident for her own good. "My queen, there will be powerful knights in the arena who could overtake you in a second! You are the last of house Targaryen, you cannot give away your life like this."

Dany had a fiery look in her violet eyes. "I am Daenerys Stormborn, the unburnt, the Rightful queen of the seven kingdoms! I will go to the Hunger Games and win. You may bring any one weapon!"

"What would you bring?" Jorah sighed, "A bow? an arakh? A sword or an axe could destroy either!"

"No", Daenerys said quietly, a faint smile on her lips. She looked to the sky, and a black flying creature flew down and landed on her arm. Dany looked him in the eye, "I don't think that any sword or battle-axe would be a match for Drogon.

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	4. Chapter 3

Author's note: I forgot to say in ch. 1, this has a few spoilers from the first book/season. the Dany scene is set in the beginning of the second book/season, but everyone else is in the 1rst. The ages of the characters are like in the book (Dany, Jon, and Robb are 14, Arya is 9, ect.) Also, shout out to Riverdalerider99!

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Hunger Games, but I wish I did.

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Jon Snow:

Jon was still fuming. It had been weeks, but he was still in shock. That little ass, Joffrey, deciding to have a fight to the death, with the lords and ladies of all the houses.

If that wasn't bad enough, he took from the Night's Watch. Did he not know that there were wilding armies, white walkers, that winter is coming? No, of course he didn't, all he cares about is his stupid "Hunger Games". If the windings, let alone the Others, got across... The king thinks he's so safe, in the south, but when winter comes, not even Joffrey Baratheon will survive, if he takes away the small enough army protecting the realm!

His soldiers were no smarter. Even the old bear had trouble keeping a straight face when one soldier had asked for a man and a WOMAN from the watch. It was quite satisfying to see his face go pink as he realized his stupidity.

But the satisfaction didn't last long. Ser Allister, cruel as ever, had decided to speak. "The only lady here is that pig Tarly."

Jon had volunteered after that. He knew that Sam Tarly would be killed immediately. Sam's only chance was if Jon protected him. Of course, there were snickers when he volunteered, more crap about protecting his lady and what not. It didn't matter though. He just needed to get Sam through the games.

"Stop dawdling, Pig!" barked the head soldier. Jon could see that the horse was exhausted under Sam's weight, and wondered how much longer the beast could go without collapsing. He kept his mouth shut, though. The soldiers would not be happy to hear the bastard telling them what to do.

Jon decided to keep his mind occupied by thinking about how to protect Sam. It would be hard. Jon was a talented swordsman, but there would be others, equally or more talented. There were strong knights in every house; Baratheon, Lannister, Tully, Tyrell... Stark. Jon gasped. He had completely forgotten that his family (no, half family), would be in the games as well. He had to know who!

He nervously approached Ser Foerr. Of the six soldiers, he was the only one to have given his name. While he wasn't friendly, he was less cruel than the other five. "Ser," he started. Ser Foerr gave a grunt. "I was wondering if you could tell me which of the Starks were chosen," Jon said nervously. Ser Foerr thought for a moment. "The oldest boy, Robb, volunteered." That's alright, thought Jon, Robb can take care of himself. "And the girl?" There was one part of Jon that hoped it was Sansa, who had always emphasized that he was their half-brother. "It was the little one", Ser Foerr spoke, "The soldiers who were there tell me the ugly little brat was eavesdropping, and almost begged to be brought to the games."

Arya. Of course she would want to come. She wouldn't have thought about how hard it would be. She wouldn't have thought that the any of the knights could rip her apart in a second! Jon found himself getting angry at her. She was giving her life away. He would have to protect her, as well. If she had learned anything with her sword, she could defend herself a bit better than Sam.

Jon fanned himself. It had been getting warmer as they rode south. They must be almost...

"Kings Landing," Roared a soldier, "Pig, Bastard, we're here."

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I hope you enjoyed it! The next few chapters will be longer and more exciting, so stick with it :)

Also, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review!


	5. Chapter 4

Author's Note: A lot of the characters listed are OCs. Also, this chapter takes place in the beginning of Clash of Kings/second season

Discalamer: I don't own Game of thrones or Hunger Games, but I wish I did...

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Tyrion:

This was not good. When Varys had come in, he was filled with dread. Had Shae been caught? He had never even imagined what Varys had told told him. He had heard rumors of a deadly tourney, with the members or major houses. It made sense, Joffrey being king. Still, He hadn't thought that Joffrey would use people from his own houses.

After Varys had told him that a Lannister male was to put into the "Hunger Games, he hadn't even needed to tell him that Joffrey had decided on his beloved little uncle. He should have known that Joffrey would try to kill him sooner or later. Joffrey had always hated him, and having the queen regent advising him didn't help. He wouldn't be surprised if it had been Cercei's idea to throw him in. It wasn't important at this point. The question was how to get out.

The simplest idea was to escape. He could probably take Bronn, and Shagga, and Shae. Where could he go, though? He wasn't exactly well liked throughout the kingdoms. It also would be hard to get in disguise. There were only so many dwarves in Kings Landing.

There was another knock on his door. It was too loud and angry to be Varys. The Hound came barging in. He seemed to be glaring at him, but between his burnt face and his personality, one always felt as if he was being glared at by he Hound. "The king wants you in the throne room... NOW!"

Was it too late to escape. Maybe if he could buy a little time, he could sneak out, travel to somewhere far away... "That is unfortunate," he said to the Hound, "because the hand does not want to go to the throne room..." The Hound glared more. "And," Tyrion said, not looking at anyone in particular, but taking a out a large purse of money, "Whoever leaves my private chambers and tells him that, would be heavily rewarded." Sandor glanced at his purse, then up to his face. "I'll tell him." Tyrion tossed him the purse. "What a good dog you are."

Now he needed to get out. There was no time to get Shae. He prayed she would be safe. It was probably better for her to not be with him. He took some gold and placed a dagger in his belt. He didn't pack anything else. He would buy supplies later on. He hoped that Joffrey had only told the Hound. He could pretend that he was merely going for a stroll. He confidently walked out of the room.

He passed many guards and servants, and no one looked twice at him. His heart was beating ferociously inside his chest, but he kept a calm face. He could just walk out the door, and keep walking.

The throne room door was open just a sliver. As he passed it, he glanced inside. His sister was talking to the king. He probably would have kept on walking, but he heard his name. He stood pressed against the wall, where he could hear them, but far away from where they could possibly see him.

"Joff, I just don't think it's a good idea, putting him in," He heard his sister quietly warn. Now He heard Joffrey's sniveling voice, "Have you actually grown to like your grotesque imp brother." The king laughed coldly. Tyrion inched closer. Cercei was defending him? "Of course not," spoke Cercei sharply, "I hate Tyrion more than even you, but he is still a Lannister. He is one of us, and our enemies would pounce if they saw us fighting amongst ourselves." "I am the king! Do you think I care what others think?" Joffrey was breathing heavily. This time Cercei was quieter. "You should if you don't wan't to end up like Aerys Targaryen." Tyrion could feel the anger pulsing through the air. Joffrey took a heaving breath; "You dare..." But Tyrion never found out exactly what Cercei had dared, because at that moment, a hand gripped the back of his neck. Tyrion twisted as best he could, and saw Ser Ilyn Payne, silent as always.

Payne swung open the door, and led Tyrion inside. Cercei and Joffrey both spun around. "Uncle," spoke Joffrey, "My dog told me of your desire to disobey the king, so I sent someone who would not have a discussion with you." The king smiled. "You don't have any idea why you're here, do you?" Tyrion knew it would be the safest decision to play innocent. "No, I was hoping you would tell me, your grace." "I wouldn't waste my breath on only you, uncle, instead of speaking to all of Kings Landing. Let them in, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn.

The knights opened the huge doors, and everyone of importance in Kings Landing came in. Knights, ladies, lords all scrambled into the large room, that could now barely hold this many people. Joffrey's king's guard stood at the front, supervising the room. Once everyone had quieted, the king spoke;

"Most of you are confused about why I brought you here. Many of you have never had the honer of being in my throne room, in the presence of your king.I have been told that there is a rumor circulating that I am throwing a tourney. That is mostly wrong. This is not just a tourney. This is what will be known as the Hunger Games!" There were murmurs of confusion. "We are having one lord and one lady from 12 major houses put in an arena, made of a walled off piece of forest. The game is to fight... to the death. The winner will win more gold than most will have in their lives." The murmurs were now nervous. Tyrion had not realized that there would be ladies in this tournament... No, Hunger Games. It seemed many people in the room were just as angry and confused as he was. Still, he could see others smiling, leaning in to hear better. Joffrey continued, "Do not be afraid, though. I have the names of all the tributes, they have all been chosen, by volunteering, or more forceful methods. Most of them are here in the city, quietly guarded in inns or houses." Joffrey smiled another sickly smile. "There will even be tributes from my own houses, to make the game more fun."

"You, the people of kings landing, will have the opportunity to bet on the tributes. They will go through a series of steps, training and showcasing their skills. To help your favorite tributes, you can send ravens, carrying food, medicine, weapons. Each tribute was allowed to bring one weapon, as well as choose from the ones in the arena already. Now, are you ready to hear the names of the tributes?" While many in the room shouted their excitement, some, mainly women, only solemnly nodded.

Joffrey cleared his throat; "From house stark, Robb and his sister Arya." Arya! The girl couldn't have been older than ten! "From house Tully, Brynden the blackfish and Jilya." The old and the young. Brynden was getting older, but still strong, he'd heard. Jilya, he didn't know much about, besides her youth, only three and ten. "From house Targaryen, the mother of dragons, Daenerys Stormborn. I cannot name a male tribute, because there is no male Targaryen." Targaryen? The last Targaryen? "From house Tyrell, Margaery and Loras. From house Martell, Jaenys and Maite. From house Greyjoy, Theon and Pylae. From house Frey, Izna and Benn. From house Florent, The lady Syrei and the lord Daev." Tyrion didn't know all of these lords, and few of the ladies, but none of these surprised him. There would be strong knights in this battle who could easily overtake his him, with his shortcomings. "From the Night Watch, Jon Snow and Samwell Tarly." Tyrion vaguely remembered Sam, a fat pathetic boy. He wouldn't last a minute in the Hunger Games. He remembered Jon Snow, though. That boy would have a chance. "From house Arryn, Nooad and his sister Jyr." Tyrion had heard of them. Some people called what they did science, others, witchcraft. "Now, from my houses," Joffrey said in his whiny voice. "From house Baratheon, Renly and Lyndsa." That made sense. He had heard that Renly may not be the most trustworthy, and the girl Lyndsa would certainly follow Renly if he decided to break from Joffrey's rule. "And, from house Lannister, Tyrion, my uncle, the Imp..." The strong hands of two guards held him in place. There was no use trying to escape now. "...And Cercei, my mother, the queen regent. These are the tributes, and to all of them, may the odds be ever in your favor."

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Thanks for Reading! Please, please, please review! Whether you liked it or not, I really appreciate reviews!


	6. Chapter 5

**I don't own HG or Game of thrones, only my ideas and characters. Please Please PLEASE review! It means a lot! Thank you to everyone who already reviewed!**

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Cersei:

Cersei woke up in a bed that was not her own. She had had a most terrible dream... "Your grace," said the voice of Maester Pycelle, "You are awake." Cersei had no time for stating the obvious. "What is going on? Why am I not in my own bed? WHAT HAPPENED? Cersei knew her memory had to have been a dream. It could have never happened. Joffrey would never say that, she was his mother! "How much do you remember?" Pycelle asked. "I don't know. I had a dream that morphed itself with reality. Why don't YOU do your job and tell me!" Pycelle took a breath. "His grace the king, he put two Lannisters in his Hunger Games, You and your brother, Tyrion." When he said that... "Forgive me, your grace... You started struggling against the guards and screaming. You were not in your right mind. You were yelling for your brother - Jaime that is - you were threatening to murder your other brother."

Cersei's heart skipped a beat. "what exactly was I yelling about Jaime?" "Just begging him to help you," Answered Pycelle. Thank the gods. "You were in a rage, so we brought you here and gave you milk of the poppy." Before Cersei could get upset at The Maester for drugging her, Lancel came in. "The king has ordered his mother to come back to the throne room. Pycelle began to protest that she needed her sleep, but Cersei silenced him. "I am well enough to see the king, just give me a minute." The men filed out.

Cersei paced around the room. She hadn't dreamt any of it. Why would her son do this? It was one thing to put her little monster of a brother in, but the king's own mother? He could be uncontrollable and rash at times, but he was not a bad person! He was her own son! What could have made him do something like this? It had to have been Tyrion. That cunning little imp must have done or said something to convince her beautiful son to do such a thing.

Unless It was the gods' punishment. It would be a perfect punishment, she thought cynically, to be put to death by the literal product of her incest. She sighed. The only way she could win would be to use her beauty and manipulation. Maybe she could seduce the men in the arena. She smiled, looking at her attractive face in the mirror. She could charm the Lords and Ladies putting in bets, to send her help. She could probably even make alliances in the arena. It wouldn't be hard to wring a sleeping ally's unsuspecting neck. It wouldn't be that hard, to win these games. She knew how to play. She called for a maidservant to bring a new dress.

When she was dressed and her hair put in an elaborate fashion, she sent the sniveling servant girl on her way. She walked out of her room, where Lancel was looking very bored. She took a deep breath and walked towards the throne room. She could do this.

Cersei had expected to come in and talk with only her son, and possibly the imp. She did not expect to see over 50 people, from all regions of Westeros. It seemed every tribute Joffrey had named was in here, as well as guards surrounding each one. As soon as she walked in, two guards stood next to her. She was pulled next to Tyrion, who grimaced at her. She glared at him, and turned away.

She surveyed the group. There were definitely strong knights, good swordsmen, archers, and other talented fighters. She had expected that. Cersei was mostly looking at the women. Which of these could out-charm her? She did not have to worry about the stark girl, who had a scowl plastered on her horsey face. That little bitch would have her neck snapped in the first minute of the arena. No spectator would send her help in the arena. The thought brought a smile to her face. That was one person in this arena she didn't have to worry about. The rest of them could be competition, though. There were beautiful ladies who could charm their way into getting allies and sponsors, if they knew how. She saw Margaery Tyrell. She knew that attractive brat was well liked in highgarden. She obviously knew how to play, but did she know how to win? Cersei's eyes landed on a beautiful girl with silvery white hair and big violet eyes. She could only be the Targaryen girl. She had an air of confidence around her. She seemed to think that she had a shot at winning. Did she? Cersei would have to wait to find out.

Her son cleared his throat. "Hello Tributes. Take a look around. This is your competition. To come out of the games alive, all of these lords and ladies must be killed." He said this with a little laugh. Now, you will meet your stylists. They will design your clothing for the interviews, and give you advice. You should listen to them. How well people like you could be life or death in the arena." That's not only true in these games, thought Cersei, my whole life has been a game of thrones. "Guards, take them to the Stylists."

Cersei's guards put their hands on her shoulders. She always had guards with her, but usually they were to protect her. She turned her head to see different guards leading the other tributes to different rooms. Who was this stylist. Cersei did not like to take advice. It was a dangerous move. She was brought into a room that she had never been in before. In the room, there was a younger girl.

She had big brown curly hair, green eyes, and a slight smile. She couldn't have been older than 15. "Who are you?" Cersei asked suspiciously. "I am Elye, your Stylist, and advisor. This was her stylist. "How old are you, girl?" "I will have my fourteenth name day very soon. Now, let's discuss your interviews. If you want to win supporters, sponsors, you will have to work on likability." Rage boiled in Cersei. "Likability?" She shrieked, how dare you talk to your queen like this! "I have complete Permission from the king-" the girl piped in. "Why would I listen to you, anyway? You are an ignorant child, what do you know that I don't?"

"I'm an actor," said Elye, "I used to be in a mummers band, before I realized that the same skills applied in gaining power. You see, Cersei, this is all a performance. The trick is figuring out what role to play. That shouldn't be surprising to you."

Cersei was frothing. This arrogant little commoner thought that knowing how to act made her brilliant. Cersei knew that better than anyone. "I know that, you little-"

The girl cut her off. "Of course you do. Your Alive, for goodness sake! Even the best actors need a little direction, and mine to you is to be more likable, if you want to survive."

Cersei still was suspicious, but the girl now at least seemed smart. "Likability has never been a problem. The people of Kings Landing respect me because I am their queen!"

"Exactly," Elye said smiling, "They are good to you because you're powerful, because you can hurt them. Now you can't. You are at the mercy of your son right now. The only way they will sponsor you is if they want to help you. You are at an advantage. You have the beauty. You have the ability to show off the dress I will make for you. You have the wealth - something you can use to bribe sponsors, you even have confidence and good speaking skills. "What you are missing is..." She paused for effect, "likability."


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the wait! Super busy and writers block! **

**I still don't own game of thrones**

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**Arya**

Arya walked in to the training grounds. She had had a painfully long discussion about her interviews and clothing with her stylist, and was looking forward to getting on her feet. She confidently walked through the guarded gates, the soldiers expressionless, but watching her.

There were all sorts of skills, from plant identification to battle axe fighting. She knew that her only fighting skill was swordplay, so she decided to start with archery. As she walked there, she looked at the other tributes. Some of them, mostly the men, were obnoxiously smug. Others, mostly the girls, didn't bother to hide the scared expressions on their faces. Arya rolled her eyes at both.

She picked up the bow, and aimed at the target, missing the center by a long shot. She heard snickers around her, and the words "dead meat." Her face went a little pink, but she picked up the bow again. This time, she got only slightly closer. There were more snickers, but she tried not to care. She could take it when they mocked her but when she saw pity in many faces, her face got hot and her stomach clenched. They already felt she was dead. She calmly plopped down the bow, and walked over to the swordplay area.

She grabbed a wooden sword and looked around. Renly Baratheoon was practicing with the Knight of the Flowers and Daev Florent was being easily beaten by Theon Greyjoy. She knew none of them would want to waste their time practicing with a little girl. For a second, she considered asking Jon Snow or Robb to practice with her, but quickly decided against it. She had been trying to avoid them, in hopes that they wouldn't try to protect her in the arena. She didn't want to be responsible for one of dying while saving her. She saw a girl a few years older then her quietly walk close to where she was. She took her chance and walked over to her.

"Care to practice?" she said, trying to be polite as she held out a wooden sword. The girl narrowed her eyes in thought. "You're Arya, correct? I'm Jilya Tully, we're related in some way." Jilya smiled a little, "Second cousins? Third? Not sure." Arya motioned to the sword. Jilya nodded and picked the wooden weapon up. Arya took the first move. Jilya just barely blocked it. She was better than most girls, it seemed, but nowhere near as good as Arya. Jilya attempted a thrust, but in a few moves, Arya had knocked the sword out of her hand and had her sword pressed to the other girl's throat. "Wow." The Tully said, regaining her balance. "I must say, I was not expecting you to be this good. Since we are kin… alliance?" Jilya said, nervously.

Arya had not expected that. Part of her wanted to say yes to her cousin, but she knew she couldn't. The girl, like most, had never used a sword, had most likely lived her life being a lady. Arya didn't want to have to take care of her, be responsible if she died. "I'm sorry. I just… I don't want to have to worry about you, or have you worry about me. I'm a loner." She smiled sadly. Jilya nodded, and walked around the corner to an area not visible from where she was standing.

Seeing no one else to practice with, Arya walked around, spent some time in plant identification, dagger throwing, almost all of the stations. Finally, a few hours later, she walked around the corner to where Jilya had gone. To her surprise, she saw a stable and riding ring. On a horse sat Jilya, swiftly galloping through obstacles. Arya stood there gaping at the beautiful horse riding. Jilya noticed her and slowed to a stop. "Hello, my loner cousin." She said, joking. Arya awkwardly laughed and began to regret the choice not to accept the alliance. A skilled rider would be useful to have on a team. "Jilya.., about the alliance –" she started. "No, it's alright" she said, beginning to ride again. "And what's it that they say," she shouted, now on the other side of the ring, "May the odds be ever in your favor!"

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**Who do you think should win? Will win? Say in the reviews! (I haven't finished it so I'll take your ideas into consideration) Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! I love you all! **


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